


Lock and Key

by QueenofDuctTape



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Paris (City), Pont des Arts, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofDuctTape/pseuds/QueenofDuctTape
Summary: For the Hermione's Nook Rare Pair Soulmate Fest. My prompt was "One soulmate owns a lock and the other owns the key to that lock."
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59
Collections: Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest





	Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

> When I first sat down and tried to write this I found myself getting too bogged down with describing the mechanisms for people getting their lock/key and it just didn’t fit with the narrative. I wound up just scrapping all of that because really the mechanism is not important to this story. Before you dive in, just know that people receive their lock or key on their 17th birthday.

**2 May 1998  
** _Hogwarts_

After everything, Ginny found Harry in a window seat in the Gryffindor Common Room. She settled across from him on the seat, her back against the opposite edge with their feet tangled together in the middle. 

Harry offered her a small smile. “Hey, Gin.”

Ginny sighed. “Hi, Harry.”

“I am so, so sorry about Fred—”

Ginny cut him off before he could get any farther. “If you try to take the blame for my brother’s death, I will hex you, Harry Potter.” 

Harry shut up. He turned his gaze from the grounds to the girl across from him. Ginny looked tired. Obviously she had been up all night like everyone else in the castle, but she had a bone-weary look to her that made her appear much older than sixteen. 

“I’ll try not to take the blame, but I am still sorry. It just seems… so wrong, somehow. Fred always felt just more alive than the rest of us, it doesn’t make sense that he could be…” Harry trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. 

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed quietly. “Did you find her?” she asked suddenly. 

Harry was confused by the sudden change of subject. He realized he’d been playing with the key around his neck and tucked the chain back under his shirt while he snorted. “No, dating opportunities were pretty thin on the ground.” 

Ginny offered him a half-hearted smile. 

“Do you think…?” Harry started to ask but trailed off. 

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“August?”

“August.”

* * *

**15 August 1998  
** _The Burrow_

Harry chose to Apparate to Ottery St. Catchpole and walk to the Burrow for Ginny’s birthday party. He’d seen Ginny on and off throughout the summer, but they had kept their distance from each other. By this point, it had been so long since they had been together that Harry wasn’t even sure he wanted her to get the lock for his key. But at the same time, it seemed crazy that someone else might have it. Who could Harry be meant for if it wasn’t Ginny? He hadn’t heard from her since her seventeenth birthday four days ago, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Surely if she’d gotten his lock she would have owled him immediately? Or maybe she thought it was too important to risk Errol getting lost and wanted to wait to tell him in person. Harry didn’t know. Either way, he was a bundle of nerves as he approached the front door. 

As he neared the rickety house, Harry could hear voices coming from the backyard but he went to the front door anyway. As he always did, Harry knocked to announce his presence and then opened the door before anyone had a chance to answer. 

“It’s me!” he called when he saw the living room was empty. 

“In the kitchen!” Ginny called back. Did she sound nervous? There was a large chance Harry was projecting his own nerves onto her tone. 

When Harry reached the kitchen, it was mercifully empty save for Ginny, so they could at least have a private conversation. 

“Hey, Gin,” he greeted her easily. 

“Hi, Harry,” she responded as she turned away from the sink to face him. 

Harry wasn’t sure how to begin this conversation. It seemed rude to just casually ask the question she already knew he was going to ask. But he started anyway. “Did you—?”

“I got a key,” she blurted out at the same time. 

Harry felt himself sag and maneuvered to perch on the edge of the worn kitchen table. Ginny approached and hesitantly sat next to him, carefully leaving several inches between them. 

“We’re still friends, right?” He asked, unnerved by her silence. 

“Of course!” she assured him. “I just… Are you… okay?” she asked, somewhat lamely. 

Harry nodded. “Are _you_ okay? I mean, it must be difficult to find that you’re not destined to marry the Chosen One, despite having pined after me for years…”

Ginny laughed and leaned over to whack him with the dish towel she was still holding. 

“Ouch!” Harry jumped off the table and pulled Ginny with him. “Let’s go out back so you can abuse your brothers instead of me.”

Ginny followed willingly. “Good idea, I’m sure Ron has done something prat-ish in the five minutes since I last saw him…”

* * *

**9 July 2002  
** _Paris, Pont des Arts_

The summer after his second year teaching at Hogwarts (effectively proving the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was broken), Harry found himself at loose ends and decided to treat himself to his first vacation ever. He’d arrived in Paris on Monday and noticed this bridge on his visit to the Louvre yesterday. He sat on one of the benches in the middle and gazed at the locks in front of him while people streamed around him, and he fiddled with the key around his neck. He had been sitting there for a period of time between five minutes and five hundred minutes when a woman sat down next to him. She blended in well in muggle Paris, or _non-magique_ Paris, as it were, but there was something just different enough about her clothes that made him think she was a witch. Her face looked vaguely familiar too. Harry tucked his key carefully back under his shirt. 

“You’re making the French Ministry nervous,” she said after a minute, staring straight ahead at the locks. 

“What?” he asked. 

“People know who you are, even here, Harry Potter. They’re wondering if you’re planning some kind of takeover.”

“If you think I’m planning a takeover, why are you telling me this?” Harry countered. 

The woman rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say that I think you’re planning a takeover, I said the French Ministry thinks you are. And I’m not sure they even really think that so much as they wanted to get me out of the office. Besides, I walked by twice before I sat down here and you didn’t even notice. Plus, since you seem to be fiddling with a necklace I’m guessing your interest here is personal.”

“Right,” said Harry, still not really understanding.

“Astoria Greengrass,” she introduced herself and held out her hand. “I work for the Foreign Office at the British Ministry of Magic but I’m on assignment here in Paris currently.”

Harry shook her hand. “Greengrass? I had classes with a Daphne Greengrass, I think.”

“My older sister. I was two years behind you at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, though he hadn't known that. “So I wouldn’t have taught you in DADA either.” He would have started teaching the year after she graduated. 

She shook her head. “No, but even if you had taught my year I didn’t take a D.A.D.A. N.E.W.T. anyway.”

Harry looked at her, genuinely surprised. “But… with the war—” 

“That’s exactly why I didn’t take it,” she said. “I was tired of fighting.” There was a heaviness in her voice that struck Harry to his core. 

“You probably won’t believe this coming from me, but I understand,” he said. 

She looked directly into his eyes. Her own eyes were a remarkably light brown, Harry thought as they bore into his. Just light brown, not hazel. No hint of green. And they didn’t tick upwards to glance at his scar once. She just stared right at him, and he had even forgotten they were talking. 

“No, I think if anyone could understand it would be you,” she agreed, startling Harry out of his reverie. 

“Do you have one?” Harry asked, seemingly out of the blue. Astoria looked confused by the change of subject. Harry gestured to the locks on the bridge. “Sorry, is it too personal a question? I don’t really know the etiquette.”

“Oh!” said Astoria. “It’s fine. People don’t usually talk about it too much. At least not in my family, or as far as I am aware, other pureblood families. There are some children’s stories about it, so if you get one you know what it is, but everyone is pretty tight-lipped about their personal experience. You can imagine, I suppose, since arranged marriages are even still pretty common. I do have one, though. Mine’s a lock. I assume that’s the key you were messing with? Since you’re here and not in wedded Weasley bliss?”

Harry snorted indelicately. “Yeah. For a while we were hopeful that Ginny might get my lock, but then she got a key too. I think we were both actually relieved.”

Astoria let out a soft laugh, but changed the subject. “Do you have a favorite?”

“A favorite?”

“Of the muggle locks?” she gestured to the bridge. 

“Hmm… I like the engraved ones. I know the muggles buy them, but it seems like we would have a lot less heartache about it if you had your soulmate’s initials. Of course, maybe some people do. I don’t really know what the locks look like because I have a key.”

Astoria hummed in agreement. “My understanding is that there’s a lot of variation. And sometimes it’s not even a traditional lock, but something that has a lock on it. I’ve heard of some people getting boxes with locks on them or locked journals or the like.”

“Huh,” said Harry. “How does that work, with receiving them, then? Mine appeared on a necklace but it seems like that might be difficult if you’ve got a whole book or a box or something.”

Astoria shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just have a traditional sort of lock, and none of my friends have mentioned having something out of the usual.”

“Do you have a favorite?” 

Astoria smiled a little mischievously. “I always laugh when I see the combination locks.” She pointed to one. “It’s very pragmatic, really. If they break up, they can just come and remove the lock.” Harry laughed with her. 

“Maybe instead of throwing away the key they throw away that paper with the combination on it,” he suggested. 

“Do you want to get lunch with me?” she asked.

Astoria led him to a little cafe she ate at frequently. It turned out the Pont des Arts was quite close to the French Ministry, which explained why so many wizards had noticed him sitting there. After lunch, Astoria returned to work, but they met again for lunch the next day, and the next, and for dinner on Friday. Harry’s vacation flew by, and before he knew it, he was boarding a train back to London at the end of August. 

They didn’t exchange owls throughout the school year, but every time Harry fiddled with his key necklace, he found himself thinking of Astoria. He’d felt young and carefree with her in Paris. Maybe it was Paris, but he thought he would feel that way anywhere she was. _She had a lock,_ he kept telling himself. _It could be his lock._ Calling himself ten kinds of stupid, Harry booked another ticket to France for the next summer. He still didn’t owl her. 

* * *

**1 July 2003  
** _Paris, Pont des Arts_

Harry’s original plan was to sit on the same bench until she magically appeared again. If they were soulmates, it would work out like that right? But he was too nervous to sit down and found himself leaning against the lock-covered railing while he wondered what to do. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” said a teasing voice behind him. 

All of Harry’s anxieties about this moment instantly disappeared as he turned and saw her again. She’d cut her hair, but her smile was still the same as she beamed at him. 

* * *

**25 July 2003  
** _Paris, Café de Flore_

“I am going to kill the Foreign Liaison!” Astoria said by way of announcing her presence and flopped into the chair across from Harry’s with a huff. 

“ _Bonjour_ , Astoria, it’s lovely to see you today,” Harry snarked back, though he was secretly pleased with how relaxed the proper pureblood witch had become in his presence. 

Astoria just leaned forward to rest her head on the table and groaned. “I’ve had it with being polite today. The entire French foreign office is a bunch of misogynist pigs,” she mumbled into the tablecloth. “I swear I am _this close_ to hexing the lot of them!” 

As she held up her thumb and forefinger less than a centimeter apart to demonstrate how close she was to her breaking point, her robes shifted and a small necklace she wore was revealed. Harry froze as his eyes zeroed in on her lock. _Her lock_. It was a small gold heart, with filigree around the edges. In that moment, Harry would have sworn his heart stopped. Filigree that exactly matched the shape of the heart at the top of his own key. 

Astoria was still talking about her work, and eventually she calmed down enough to sit up properly and order. The necklace slipped back into the folds of her robes and Harry tried desperately not to stare at the place where it had been as his mind raced. He hoped he was making appropriate responses to her conversation, because all he could think about was that he’d found her. Ever since that first day on the Pont des Arts he had wondered if it was her, had come to desperately hope that it was, but deep down inside he was scared. Scared that he was falling for her, but they wouldn’t have a matching lock and key, and she would leave him. He’d even considered throwing away his key so no one could ever prove they _weren’t_ soulmates, but he had never heard of anyone doing that and he figured that the key might reappear as mysteriously as it had arrived when he was seventeen. 

Somehow, he made it through lunch. Astoria seemed to notice his lack of attention though, because her smile was more hesitant as they parted ways. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Harry said, grabbing her hand. “On the bridge?” At her nod, he kissed her knuckles before dropping her hand, flashed her a quick smile, and left. 

Later that day, Harry was extremely frustrated. He had been to three jewelers already, and still hadn’t found anything like what he was looking for. It had seemed like such a good idea, a flash of brilliance, to find Astoria a ring to match his key and her lock, but everything he could see at the shops was just wrong. It was too shiny, too flashy, too _new_. He almost wanted to go to yet another shop, but his French was so abysmal he didn’t know if he’d be able to find another one. He renewed his efforts and began examining the rings beneath the glass counters again.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” a saleswoman greeted him. “ _Comment puis-je vous aider aujourd'hui_?”

“ _Bonjour_ ,” said Harry. “Er, sorry. I don’t speak much French.” 

The woman nodded. “Not a problem,” she said. “Is there something you are looking for in particular?” she asked. 

“Well, I’m looking for a ring,” said Harry. 

“Tell me about the woman it is for,” the saleswoman suggested. 

“Actually, I was looking for something that would match this,” Harry said, and pulled out his key. “It has some significance to us as a couple, and I was hoping—”

The saleswoman held up her hand to cut off the flow of words. “Come with me,” she said when Harry had stopped talking. She motioned for him to join her on the other side of the counter, and led him through the back into what was clearly a workroom which featured a long bench with a couple of large magnifying glasses and several delicate tools neatly arranged. The saleswoman opened a drawer on the back wall. “This is our antique collection. Many of our customers, they are looking for the bright rings with the big stones, and these do not much appeal to them. So we move these back here to make room for the stock that sells better. But I think you will be interested in a few of these.” 

She set the drawer down on the workbench and removed four of the rings for him to peruse, all with a heart motif. 

“That one,” Harry said instantly. It wasn’t an exact match for their lock and key, being silver in color rather than gold, but the shape was very similar and something about it felt right. 

* * *

**26 July 2003  
** _Paris, Pont des Arts_

When Harry showed her his key, Astoria’s hand flew to the necklace at her own throat. 

“Did you know?” she asked, tears gathering in her eyes. “I hoped, when you came back this summer… But you never said anything so I didn’t either…” she trailed off. 

“I didn’t know,” he said as her tears triggered his own. He blinked them away rapidly. “I hoped too, but I didn’t know. Not until yesterday, when this slipped out of your robes for a second.” He reached hesitantly for her lock and she let him hold it. 

“May I?” she reached for his key as well, and he nodded. She held it almost reverently. “I feel like this is so special… but I kind of want to throw it in the Seine.” She laughed through the tears and her brown eyes sparkled. 

Harry laughed with her. “I’ve spent so many years fiddling with it, but I want to too.” 

“Should we do it now?” she asked. 

Harry nodded, and she carefully inserted the key into the lock. as she twisted it, the chains the the lock and the key were on vanished from around their necks. They both gasped, and the lock clicked open. 

“I’ll lock it on the bridge, and you throw the key?” Harry suggested, and Astoria nodded. 

“In just a second,” she said and surged forward to wrap her arms around him and bury her head in his chest. 

Harry held onto her while desperately trying to get his own heart rate under control. 

Eventually, Astoria pulled back. “Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m ready.” 

Harry carefully re-latched the lock around a spot on the railing. Astoria twisted the key to lock it on permanently. They both held their breaths, but nothing happened. Astoria threw the key as far as she could and they both watched as it sank beneath the water’s surface. 

Harry cleared his throat when it disappeared from view. “I, ah, have something else for you,” he said. 

Astoria let out a faint laugh. “Something other than the fact that we’re soulmates?” she asked.

“Well, it sort of builds on that.” Harry pulled the small jewelry box from his pocket. Astoria gasped and her eyes started tearing up again. Harry tried to blink his own tears away again, but it was no use. All he could do was hope desperately that his voice didn’t crack. 

“These past two summers have been the best part of my whole life,” he began. “I’ve felt more like me than I ever have before, and I don’t want to go back to living without you. I know I’m supposed to kneel or something, and I don’t know where we’ll live or what we’ll do, just say you’ll marry me, Stori.”

“My rotation in France is up at the end of this year,” Astoria blurted out, crying openly now. “I’ll be working in London, but I can live anywhere, so long as it’s with you.”

Then Harry was kissing her, and it felt like he was already home. 

* * *

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story, and please check out the other soulmate stories in the collection! If you liked this and want to see more in this universe, please subscribe since I plan on adding more to this at a later date! I am also planning on posting several of the keys that I found while working on this story on my tumblr, @queen-of-duct-tape. Also, please forgive me for featuring the Pont des Arts in a story that takes place before people started putting locks on it. Also also, pardon my French. It is courtesy of Google Translate because, like Harry, I do not speak much of the language.


End file.
